Unexpected
by pairsskatingrules
Summary: After Michael returns to Iraq, Neela is left contemplating not only her marriage but her relationship with a certain roommate.
1. Chapter 1

_Hi everyone, I decided after reading for a long time that I would have a go at writing an ER fic. Ray and Neela have really captured my interest lately, and this came to me while I was watching the show the other night. This is the first part and I'll hopefully get the next chapter written soon. Hope you enjoy, any reviews will be gratefully recieved!_

_ER, Ray and Neela do not belong to me. I'm simply borrowing them_

**Unexpected**

I never planned for this to happen. Hell, what sane girl would? Married to a man I barely know, left alone after only a few weeks with only my overgrown-kid of a roommate for company. No honeymoon, no newly wedded bliss, only an empty bed and an apartment, more suited to a couple of students, to console myself with.

He never said it would be like this, but then again he never said it wouldn't. Isuppose that's the main trouble, he never said anything, we never discussed it further than "hey, marriage, crazy thought, but why not?" then _bam_, the next thing I knew, there I was standing in my sari, with a ring on my finger and a bouquet flying hastily over my shoulder.

I never considered being a military wife. The thought that Michael would continue serving his country, and leave me alone, never really crossed my mind. I suppose it was just my selfish assumption that after we were married he'd want to be back in the States again. Back with his wife, doing all the things newlyweds should be doing; making a home, laughing, having sex, talking about the future, not disappearing off to just about the most dangerous place he could possibly find; living in a tent, saving lives and serving country, dodging bombs and bullets. Why thehell did I have to marry a bloody saint?

Truth being told I miss him, but no more than before and that sets a deep pang of guilt bubbling in the pit of my stomach. He isn't here and I'm used to it. Our entire relationship was built on letters and a couple of nights together. So how can I miss what I've never really had? I wake up in the morning and it takes noticing my wedding ring to remember that I'm married. It's not like I have my husband kissing me awake or the memory of making love the previous night to give me a gentle reminder.

I'm mad at him, but more than anything I'm mad at myself, because I, Neela the Planner, was never meant to get myself into a marriage I'd regret. Everything which has ever gone right in my life has been the result of militaristic planning, so it's rather ironic that it's planning of a militaristic nature which is now destroying one of my carefully laid plans!

It's thoughts like these which keep me awake until the wee small hours, staring at the ceiling in my room, listening to the distant clatter of the El and whatever soundtrack my flatmate has decided to provide. Last night it was loud, animalistic sex through my bedroom wall in glorious Dolby surround sound quality, tonight it's soulful guitar strumming from the living room with a background of some blow-up-everything-in-sight Bruce Willis movie.

I listen to him sing the same tired chorus for what feels like the hundredth time then finally snap, heaving myself out of bed, taking the covers with me, and stalking through to the living room. It takes him a second but he finally looks up, his musical connection finally broken.

"Did I wake you?"

"No Ray, you didn't wake me…"

He looks relieved.

"You didn't wake me because I never managed to get to sleep in the first place for your infernal bloody strumming on that guitar!"

"Sorry," his voice is low and he doesn't even attempt to argue back. I feel deflated, part of me was quite looking forward to an argument. What the hell does that say about my state of mind right now?

"What are you watching anyway?" I flop down next to him on the couch, Bruce is now spraying bullets around in a rather alarming manner. He mutters the name of a film I've never heard of and I nod sagely, unwilling to illustrate my ignorance.

"You heard from Michael?" he tests the water gently.

I raise one eyebrow, "You mean you didn't hear our conversation?"

"Okay, so I was listening, but in my defence, the walls_are_ pretty thin!"

"Yeah and don't I know it!" I reply with more than a hint of sarcasm.

"You want to talk about it?"

"No."

"That's okay,"

"We had another argument, I just don't believe him sometimes! He's been told that he can come home in two months because activity in his area is dying down, and he's considering relocating to another area because he feels _'he has so much more to give_!'" I sigh deeply, considering his thoughtful expression a green light to continue my monologue. "He gets the bloody option to come home and now he's saying it might not happen. I mean I'd find it hard to take if he was _forced_ to stay longer, but at least that way I'd have some consolation thinking that he'd rather be here with me, but this way all I feel is that he'd rather risk getting himself killed every day than face up to the horror of marriage with me!" Tears of frustration and hurt sting at my eyes and finally I can hold them back no more, "I just feel like total crap! What kind of a wife am I if I can't even keep my husband in the country for three weeks after our wedding?"

A box of tissues is proffered in my direction, "Blow," Ray's voice instructs in a gently authoritative manner. "Come here," he slips an arm around my shoulder and pulls me towards him, resting my head on his shoulder. "I know you're taking this personally, but seriously Neela, I honestly think that Michael needing to be in Iraq is about him."

I sniff dejectedly, shredding the tissue into tiny pieces, and moving into a more comfortable position in his arms.

"Seriously, I mean he'd have to be crazy not to want to be here with you." He smoothes an errant strand of my hair back behind my ear and I look up, startled by the sudden change in timbre of his voice.

I want to say something but he catches my gaze and holds it for several seconds until I feel like his eyes are seeing something they shouldn't and I glance away abruptly, sitting up and rapidly changing topic.

"You want some tea?"

Jumping up from the couch, I busy myself around the kitchen, filling the kettle and finding the tea bags, but inside my heart is hammering at ninety miles a minute, and from Ray's strained silence I can tell he's feeling uncomfortable too.

"Shit." I mutter under my breath. As if I don't have enough problems.


	2. Chapter 2

Thank you so much to those of you who reviewed the first chapter of this fic, it was great to see you enjoyed it! Sorry it's taken me so long to get onto the next chapter, I don't really have a good excuse other than I was on holiday in Canada.

Once again the usual disclaimers apply; I have no ER affiliation and don't own Ray or Neela, worse luck!

**Unexpected - Chapter 2**

Over the next few days I find myself avoiding any one on one situations with Ray. What happened between us was only a fleeting spark but it was enough to send me into a state of permanent panic and self-doubt. What was I thinking? What was_he_ thinking? Was I reading too much into one small look? It's all too much for my already cluttered brain to process, so I throw myself into work even more than usual, trying to avoid quiet, contemplative moments which just add to my worry.

The ER is its usual bustle of activity and nobody seems to notice the sudden change in my shift patterns. Dr Kovac seems puzzled at first but takes my lame excuse about needing time for apartment-hunting without much thought, his mind is too occupied with happy, joyful baby and Abby thoughts to notice any ulterior motive I might have. Likewise the ever-sceptical Abby only gives me a brief shrug of the shoulders and asks if everything's alright. Babies; they have funny effects on people.

My plan seems to be moving along as smoothly as I could expect considering I have no objective other than; avoid Ray at all costs. Smoothly that is until my break is interrupted by Frank's dulcet tones yelling to me that I _have a call from Iraq, and it had better not be anything to do with terrorism_. Twat still clearly thinks he's funny.

Despite my anger at our last conversation I still find myself galloping towards the phone in the lounge, eager to hear his voice, hoping against hope for some good news.

"Neela?"

"Michael, it's so good to hear your voice!" I stretch the cord as far as it will go and flop down onto the nearest couch.

"You too," I can hear him smiling down the other end of the line, and any remaining bad feeling dissipates instantly. It's my husband and I miss him. "Sorry I can't talk long but I wanted to call you now because I don't know when I'll next get the chance."

I can't hide my confusion, "Is the situation getting worse again? I thought things had calmed down."

There's a deep sigh and somewhere in the background I can hear the rattle of vehicles being started. "It's the opposite Neela. Things here have really quietened down, we're packing up."

"You're coming back?" I can hardly bear to get my hopes up.

"You know how I said I might get the opportunity to move on? Well I got my transfer yesterday. They've asked if I'll go and help up further north and I said yes."

"They _asked_ and you said yes? You mean there was an option not to."

"I know what you're going to say…"

I can't even thinly veil my anger, "You have no idea Michael. No idea at all! You get the option to come back here, actually spend some time with me, and you don't take it! Are you forgetting the whole marriage thing, or maybe you're just regretting it!"

"Neela, that's not what it's about and you know it."

"Do I? Do I really, because from this end that's exactly how it feels. You'd rather hide out in the middle of the desert and risk getting yourself blown up a thousand miles away than face up to being married. _That's_how it feels!"

"Neela, you know …"

"I don't care!" I interrupt, "I've had it with this, call me back if you come to your senses!" and with that I leap to my feet, slamming the phone back on the wall with a satisfying clatter and dissolving into tears.

A cup of tea, the last Kit Kat from my secret stash, and a chat with Abby later and I find myself packed off home, angry in a way that I can't work away my worries, but glad to escape the sympathetic gazes of my colleagues. The weather seems to reflect my mood, rain drizzling pathetically as I ascend the steps to the El platform, by the time I arrive at the other end of the journey, cascading angrily from the sky in sheets. I struggle futilely with my umbrella, swearing and tossing it in the nearest bin when the wind finally blows it inside out, buckling the spokes and rendering it useless. Instead I resign myself to getting wet. The water plastering my hair to my face and soaking through all the layers of my clothing right to my underwear by the time I reach the apartment. I let myself revel in self-pity, tears joining the rain streaming down my face as I climb the steps and rake through my purse for my keys.

Part of me hopes he's not home but another part is praying he is.

Some higher poweris clearly listening, as my ears prick up at the sound of a familiar guitar and a soft voice, singing words I can't quite make out, wafting along the hallway. With a deep breath I compose myself before opening the door and kicking off my shoes, dropping my bag on the kitchen countertop as his eyes flick upwards and his gaze catches my own.

"You're home early. Bad day?"

I can't even reply because I'm in floods of tears.

It seems instinctive on his part, and without doubt it's instinctive in mine, that his arms find their way around me and mine find his chest, screwing up the fabric of his rock group du jour t-shirt in my fists as I weep in frustration. His voice is gentle and soothing, like a balm on my open wounds as he leads me over to the couch, sitting us both down and rocking me back and forth, patiently waiting for me to regain some sort of control over myself.

"Is this a don't want to talk about it time?" he finally enquires, his eyebrows raised quizzically. "Cause I'm all ears, but if you want me to butt out, well…"

"Michael called again," I grab the tissue he's offering, mopping up my tears and trying futilely to fix the Bozo the Clown eyeliner look I fear I'm sporting.

He shook his head, jaw set firmly, trying to give away nothing.

"He's not coming back, he just wanted to ring to tell me he was being transferred." I give up worrying about my makeup, Ray doesn't give a shit anyway, hell he's seen me in full hangover mode.

He nods and alters the position of the arm placed around me, and even in my current state I can't help but notice my body give a little involuntary shiver.

"Is this by choice?"

"He had the option not to go but he chose to," I admit, "I know you said last night about this being about him, but seriously Ray, it's hard not to take it personally."

Suddenly the tears are prickling back at the corner of my eyes and my breath hitches in my throat, the last few words of my admission squeaking out as I try to control my emotions. Laying my head against his chest I let myself cry a little more, holding it in the whole way home seems to have built up some sort of never ending reservoir.

There's silence for a few moments as he rocks me back and forth, seeming to know I don't need him to talk, just to listen. I'd never had him down as the strong, silent type.

"He's nuts, you know that?" he finally interjects into the stillness, without any malice in his voice, just puzzlement. "Seriously nuts. He has you here and yet he'd rather be over there getting himself shot at."

"You're preaching to the converted, Ray!"

"I know, I guess I just find it hard to understand, maybe that makes me a bad person. I mean I know if it were me, it'd be a total no-brainer…desert, khaki, gunfire and tents versus my beautiful wife…"

He cuts himself off sharply, looking the other way, colour rushing to his cheeks as though realising he's perhaps said too much.

"Thanks," I smile up at him, regaining his attention. "It means a lot to hear that. Sometimes I wonder if maybe it's something about me driving him away."

He snorts and shakes his head, "You're kidding right?"

"No."

"Man…" he stops for a second as though having to give careful consideration to what he's about to say, "Neela, I don't want to badmouth the guy, he's your husband, he's entitled to make choices in life and I know I should be commending him on serving the country when the most I've done is…well I can't really think of anything dutiful and heroic that I've done, go figure. But God, I just want to slap him and tell him to come to his senses."

I want to tell him that it's okay and that I'm thoroughly okay with the thought of him joining in my _Pissed Off with Michael Club_ but he seems to be doing fine all on his own so I let him continue.

"He has you here, he barely even had to work to get you. True what they say about the uniforms eh? Two minutes later he's coerced you into marrying him then he turns round and abandons you again. Why does he deserve you? You deserve someone who'll make you feel like the most special, amazing person in the world, make you feel the way you deserve to feel, not miserable and lonely and wondering if there's something wrong with you that's made your husband run off. God he should be treating you like a princess…if you were…"

Once again his voice falters and this time he does need help to continue.

"Ray…" my voice is soft, I feel like we both know what he's already implying but I need to hear him say it for myself.

"…If you were mine…" he lets out a deep sigh and looks away again, trying to take his arm with him. It's a split second decision but what the hell, I'm being impulsive these days, I grab his arm and hold it, not letting him leave the couch.

"Neela." he seems to want me to let go so he can escape.

"Finish Ray," I command, "Finish it Ray because right now I can't take someone else running out on me."

That's enough to make up his mind, and he turns back to face me, the hand I've been holding now gripping me with more certainty.

"If you were mine I'd never leave your side. I'd wake up every morning beside you and thank God you were still there, I'd do everything I could to make you happy, see you smile, hear you laugh."

My heart skips the proverbial beat then stops entirely as his hand slides a slow path up my arm, his eyes locking on mine, so many questions written in them, asking silent permission for what I know he's about to do, giving me time to back out, run away.

But I don't run anywhere. I hold his gaze, and then his lips are on mine and his arms are around me, strong and comforting, holding me tight like he's afraid if he lets go I'll change my mind. Suddenly all the tentative glances are gone and it's just fire between us, untamed and out of control. His lips dance heat across my own and then it's not enough and his tongue is slipping between my lips, tangling with mine as our hands tear at each other's clothing. Soon shirts and pants are littering the living room floor and there's no going back. Any thoughts of Michael erase themselves from my mind, it's only Ray, and as these new feelings course through my body I can't help but mentally berate myself for my poor choices.

I married the man from across the world when everything I was looking for was in the bedroom next door.


End file.
